Manhands has a big mouth
by significationary
Summary: "Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I can't appreciate a set of abs. Jesus, Sam. Sorry." Samtana friendship, set during Kissed a Girl. one-shot, possibly part of something longer later.


I've always known that whole "be yourself" stuff is pure bullshit. Nobody is ever completely themself, ever, because nobody's brave enough. To be yourself, you have to not care what other people think. True, I didn't give a damn about any of those sycophantic idiots at McKinley. They could call me a lesbo all they wanted, but they'd still be nice to me out of pure fear. I didn't need anything other than that, really. This was high school. As long as Brittany loved me, I'd be fine.

Outside of school, though, that was another story. There were several other people whose opinions kind of mattered. My parents, for example, but they took the whole lesbian thing in stride. Almost more than them, though, I cared about what my abuela thought. I think it can be pretty universally agreed on that didn't go well. And after Brit left – she stayed to comfort me for hours – I may or my not have locked myself in my room for the entire weekend.

Mama accepted my half-baked sickness excuse and let me stay home on Monday. Now that I think about it, that may have been less about compassion and more about how I threw stuff at her when she tried to come in. but I wasn't going to be picky. She left me alone for most of the day, not coming up every five minutes to ask if I needed anything like she had when I first locked the door.

I drifted into a sleepy fog sometime around when the sun came up. Buttery-yellow slivers of sunlight around the edge of my closed blinds moved across the floor, and I sort of watched them. Just as the bright lines started to creep onto my bed, Mama knocked on the door. I wanted to scream at her to let me stay here, maybe forever, but I couldn't work up enough motivation for any sound whatsoever.

After a pause, a voice outside the door said my name. It wasn't Mama, it was a boy. I thought for a second Papa might have come home early from work. But then the door opened and the boy said my name again, and I could tell it definitely wasn't my dad.

"Go away," I mumbled, trying to sound stern. Somehow, though, I thought maybe that wasn't working out too well. Hard to sound stern when you're lying face down and drooling.

"Okay, I'll go. I just wanted to tell you we're all worried about you."

I knew that voice. "Guppy lips. Of course. Well, you've delivered your message. You can leave now."

"Are you sure? Do you need me to get you anything?" I could practically picture his enormous lips pouting, his matching huge blue eyes all sincere and worried.

I groaned. "No. You sound like my mom."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Why? We dated like a year ago. The chivalry period is officially over." I wanted him to go. Having him here was bringing up all these uncomfortable thoughts, like why I couldn't just have been happy with him? He was a sweet guy, pretty adorable as far as guys went. He'd have taken care of me. Why couldn't I let myself be happy with him? Everything would have been so much easier. But no. I had to like the ladies.

"That's not why I'm doing this," he said patiently.

That statement was so ridiculous, I had to look at him. I propped myself up on my elbows, wiped my mouth off, and turned my head. There he was, half-obscured by the hair in my face, looking all wholesome. "Does my mother know you're here?" I asked.

"Yeah, she let me in."

"Of course she did." She always was a sucker for the boy-next-door type. "So you're trying to help. How exactly did you intend to do that?" I asked skeptically, scraping my hair back out of my face.

"Well, I wasn't sure. I wanted to see how bad you were."

"How bad is that?" I said, staring at him blankly.

"I don't know..." he hedged.

I pointed at him. "Hey. Trouty Mouth. You can't lie to me. Or anyone, in fact. Fess up," I commanded.

"I don't know. You've locked yourself in your room for 72 hours and refused to eat, so you tell me," he said, sounding exasperated. I always hated it when he went all logical on me during our micro-relationship. It was so hard to argue with his infant eyes.

"Point made. So what's your brilliant plan?" My arms were getting tired, so I let myself fall back down on my stomach. My neck was bent at an uncomfortable angle, but I didn't have the energy to move and fix it. "It better not be some kind of strip tease," I said disapprovingly.

That gave him pause. "So you heard about that."

"Man hands has a big mouth."

"Rachel," he said, almost like a curse.

"Yep. So what, you've got some sexy cop uniform on underneath that?"

"No."

Although that was all he said, I could tell he was hurt about the sexy cop comment. And no matter what I said about us being over, I still felt bad about genuinely hurting him. so I said, "Damn it. I miss those abs of yours."

"I thought you..." He sounded confused.

"Just because I'm a lesbian doesn't mean I can't appreciate a set of abs. Jesus, Sam. Sorry," I tacked onto the end, remembering how pissed he got when I said anything about God. "And if abs aren't on the menu, then you can leave. Let me die here," I sighed dramatically. Really, I wanted him to go and take all of those confusing logical thoughts with him.

The room went silent for a long time, so I figured he left. Surprisingly, I was almost disappointed. And then I was re-surprised when his hand took mine and moved it. I felt fabric, then heard a zipper. "You put my hand in your pants, and you'll never have little fish children," I warned, and then my fingers touched smooth, warm skin.

I knew that skin. Without moving my hand, I turned and looked up at him to make sure – yep, those were Fish boy's abs. He had the best body of any boy I ever made out with, including Puck. An obsessive workout schedule probably accounted for that. Still, it was nice. I smiled. "That's more like it."

Sam half-laughed in that quiet way that I always secretly thought was adorable. He was so sweet in an innocent way, kind of like Brittany. I was starting to remember why I actually sort of cared about him when we dated.

I let Sam lift me up to my knees and pull me close to him. He hugged me tightly, and it was sappy, yes, but my cheek was against his rock-hard chest, so I wasn't complaining. "What do you really want, Sam?" I asked, letting go and sitting back down on my bed.

"I just want you to feel better. I'm sorry your abuela..." He paused, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"Practically disowned me. Yeah. Thanks." I rolled my eyes. "Well, if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure that's not how I imagined it going, either."

"Right." He stood there awkwardly.

"You can sit down, goofball," I told him. I'd forgotten – he had a weird thing about being polite, or some shit like that. He wouldn't sit down unless I said he could. Now that I said it, he sat next to me on the bed. "How about you eat something?" he suggested.

'I will if you will." I'd caught on to his little eating disorder thing after spending about three seconds with him. Now, I knew it was none of my business, so I didn't ask any questions, but still. I wouldn't eat if he didn't.

"Okay," Sam said. "Breadstix. Let's go."

"I look like shit." I shook my head.

"No, you don't, you look fine," he insisted.

"Liar." I was in the same pajamas I put on when Brittany left on Friday, my hair was disgusting, and I was wearing no make up at all. No, I wouldn't be caught dead in public looking like that.

"Santana, you look fine," he said seriously.

"Stop it."

"Here, let me braid your hair. Then you can put on a jacket and go, okay?"

I frowned at him. "You can braid hair? Isn't that fruity of you."

Sam took my comment in stride. "I know, I had to learn for Stacy. Trust me, it wasn't by choice. Just turn around."

I rolled my eyes and tried to be exasperated with him, but I turned around. He scooted closer to me on the bed and started to comb through my hair. "It's gross," I warned him.

"Nah, it's fine." Gently, he started to braid. "You've got beautiful hair," he told me, like it was some normal comment to make.

"I already said I'd go. You don't have to butter me up," I sighed.

"I'm not. Why can't I say something nice without you getting suspicious?"

"You can," I replied indignantly.

"Right. It's just never happened ever."

He had a point. "That may be true," was all I said.

"San. Be serious. And give me a ponytail."

"Alright, fine." I handed him a rubber band off my wrist and he fastened my braid, then I turned to look at him. I wasn't completely honest often, but when I was, I'd do it right. "You're too nice," I told him. "I've been pretty much nothing but a complete bitch to you, and yet you're still here, being all comforting and nice and taking me to Breadstix. And that's stupid."

"Why?" he frowned.

"I think it's pretty obvious. I'm not nice, and I never will be. So you need to stop with the church boy act. Just leave me alone. Go be with people who are do-gooders and have similarly oversized lips. Although frankly, you may have trouble with the second part," I added, trying to joke.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "I appreciate the advice or whatever, but if I wanted to be with anyone else, I wouldn't have come. I know you're not the most… approachable person in the world," he said diplomatically. "And I know you have more insulting nicknames for me than there are students at McKinley, okay, but I don't care. I think you're nice. And it's not an act. So can we go?" he finished.

More words than I'd ever heard him say at once. And his argument was pretty damn near impossible to argue with. So I didn't try. "Okay," I said, letting myself smile at him. as I put on one of my brother's sweatshirts and slipped on flip flops, I thought again about how much easier life would be right now if I could just like him, _like that_. Don't get me wrong, I loved Brittany, and I would never choose anybody over her, but I wished part of it was my choice. Any part of it.

He drove us there in my Papa's car, held open doors for me like we were on a date or something, and all I could do was smile and giggle at him. Hell, I guess we pretty much were on a date, except I never got like this around anybody but Brittany. Even that didn't happen a lot. It felt really weird, but not completely bad.

We both ordered some pasta thing, started eating some of those famous breadsticks, and then we were just sitting there across the table from each other. "So why are you making me eat? You know, if this is what you wanted all along, you could've just told me," he said, making conversation.

He didn't know I knew, I guess, or he never would've gone there. "No, it wasn't," I said slowly. "Alright, you want the honest answer?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, and he was so doggedly nice, I felt even worse about telling him I knew. He asked for it, I told myself, and then I just told the truth.

"I know about your anorexia thing. Now, maybe it's not that exactly, or it's not that bad, or you don't like calling it that. Whatever. I don't care. I just know I've never seen you eat more than half a salad and you exercise like a manic. Draw your own conclusions, I don't care." I shrugged.

Sam didn't say anything for a second. He looked down at the table, shoulders hunched, and muttered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah. You do. And it's okay," I said calmly.

"Have you..."

"Didn't tell anyone, fish face. None of my business. But I wasn't going to let you make me eat when you need to, too, bro." I motioned to the half-eaten bread in his hand. "Mission accomplished."

He raised his eyebrows, took another bite of bread. "Yeah. Well, thanks for the concern, but I'm fine," he said, not getting defensive.

"Whatever you say," I agreed, then tapped his nose with the end of my breadstick. "L'chaim,"

Sam looked at me thoughtfully, then poked my nose back. "Okay," he said, and took a big bite of his breadstick. I watched him. I saw him cringe a little when he swallowed, and how he tried to hide that so I wouldn't see.

"If I liked boys, I'd like you."

Shit. That was out loud. I couldn't believe I actually said that, or thought it, for that matter. Even worse, it was true, so I couldn't even take it back.

I looked at him to gauge how he'd respond, not really expecting much. At the best, he'd laugh it off. At the worst, he'd tell the entire school and I'd be ruined. It could go either way. But Sam just grinned at me. He almost looked like I'd just complemented him. "Thanks," he said. "Y'know, if you liked me, I'd think about liking you back."

I stared at him in disbelief for a second, offended, but not really. "You'd think about it?" I demanded.

"Hey, you said I was too nice. Make up your mind," he lectured me, grinning in a wicked way I'd never seen from him before.

"You little jerk," I laughed, nudging his leg underneath the table. "You'd date me and you'd be lucky to have me."

"I would," he agreed. "And you'd be lucky to have these," he added, pointing to his stomach.

"I would." I nodded, still smiling. I felt like I should say something else, so after a second of hesitation, I added, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said without a hint of smugness.

Now you tell me; why the _hell_ couldn't I love him? At that point, I wanted to, more than anything, but all I felt was platonic, like he was another brother to me, and I hated myself for it.

"Hey." I felt Sam's hand on mine. He held it, looked me in the eyes. "I wouldn't change how you are, though. I like you," he said sincerely.

"Thanks," I said again. Maybe with some time, I'd learn to like me, too.


End file.
